


lies the ocean whispered

by sweetwatersong



Series: compass rose 'verse [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, merfolk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetwatersong/pseuds/sweetwatersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some secrets you can only keep for so long. [Pirate!Natasha and merman!Clint.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	lies the ocean whispered

**Author's Note:**

> "...these are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the ocean's skin, one forgets the tiger heart that pants beneath it; and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but conceals a remorseless fang." _Moby Dick_ , Melville Hermann.
> 
> Takes place prior to _compass rose_ , the namesake for this 'verse.

The prow of the _Anastasia_ slid onto the foam-covered sand with a hiss, bumping gently to a stop. Natasha ran the sail down even as the skiff landed, tying each knot with cold and careful precision; her movements suggested a tense anger that only grew when she swung herself out of the small craft and made her way to the _Anastasia’s_ bow, ignoring the water that splashed up to her knees.

“Natasha.” Clint slid into the shallow surf, propping himself up on his arms. He had wisely stayed underwater during the brief sail to the hidden island, visible only in occasional flashes of pale human skin or a curving dorsal fin. _“Natasha.”_ She ignored him, hands steady but muscles tense when she gripped the wooden hull and pulled. The little skiff obediently slid forward, following her deep footsteps as she maneuvered it out of the flotsam of high tide.

“We need to talk about this. Please don’t cut me off.”

From the coolness in her grey eyes, the idea of doing just that was preferable. Her short dagger sat on its ledge just inside the boat; she grabbed it smoothly with one hand and turned, putting her back to the sea.

“Natasha, I know that it’s bad, but I can’t change what happened. Walking away isn’t going to help anything.” He had to raise his voice by that point, calling after her as she strode up the white beach with steel in her spine. The muscles in her jaw ached, her teeth grinding against each other when he called her name once more – and was forced to fall silent when she stepped into the shaded jungle.

For all the anger in her, though, the pirate assessed each step carefully, checking for anything unwelcome or camouflaged in her path. These pockets of paradise were as deadly as they were beautiful; there were reasons for their seemingly untouched perfection.

The sun’s heat bled away quickly in the deep shade of the forest. If she hadn’t been working through thick underbrush she would have already begun to feel a chill, goosebumps rising on her tanned skin despite her unbuttoned jacket. As it was it took her the length of the small island and halfway back to finally breathe slowly. There, in the closest thing to a clearing she had come across, she sank down and leaned against a trunk of a massive black tree.

It hurt. That was what she had been unprepared for, if Natasha was honest. And being who she was and doing what she did, honesty was the only way she could live with her actions. So she faced her pain in spite of it, in spite of how easy it would be to pretend her anger came from another source. In her life she had dealt with lies, deceit, betrayal, cowardice, guilt; she was a pirate, a murderer, a thief. All those things were only natural.

She hadn't been prepared to deal with the idea that Barton had been sent to kill her.

The decision made sense. She could admit that much to herself if she viewed that time from an outside perspective. Yes, the sea dwellers would have deemed her a threat. Yes, until the moment she had revealed her true intentions, it would have been easiest to run her through and dismiss her as another greedy human. After all, she was, wasn’t she? But what she was greedy for couldn’t be satisfied by gold or blood or a selkie’s seal hide. Natasha tipped her head back to rest on the scraping bark and laughed quietly at the thought, at herself. Hopeless, again; hopeless, but not helpless.

Except for him.

 _Damn_ him! Her right hand tightened, balling into a fist that made her tendons groan. All those years of fending off advances and keeping her cares to herself, allowing no one else in, looking at each sailor and crewman and even Barnes with the certain knowledge she would let them die if she had to, even _Barnes_ – and a thrice-blasted son of a shark had made it past those defenses without her noticing.

No; that was a lie. She had known. She had been amused and entertained and curious, and assumed that his agenda could only be filled with salt and the song of the waves. That their meeting had not been happenstance, per se, but that it had not revolved around her.

Natasha accepted that error, managed the damage its revelation caused. Eyes closed, soaking in the whirring and chirping drone of the jungle around her, she sorted and acknowledged and cataloged the ripples spreading out from the malicious comment their contact had made. Remembered the wariness in Clint’s eyes when he had realized who they were meeting… and his sharp, desperate attempt to keep the other merman from revealing what must have been an open secret in the ocean.

Did it matter?

Puzzled, the pirate opened her eyes and examined the thought. Did Barton’s reason for approaching her, for being there in the first place, alter everything else they had now shared between them? She was tempted to say yes – and yet even this wasn’t enough to make her lie to herself. Had she been aware of his intent from the start, things would have gone quite differently. Easy enough to picture how she would have ensnared him, interrogated him about the world hidden under the ocean's surface. Easy, but not pleasant, and the idea of him in pain sent an ache through her own chest.

So, did it matter?

Natasha let out a long breath, shoulders slumping as her frustration ebbed, because the nausea roiling in her answered that question beyond a shadow of a doubt. She closed her eyes and let herself rest a while longer, knowing that the tide would yet be rolling in; knowing that he would still be waiting when she returned.

It would have been better for her to remember why few came to these places, and fewer left alive.

_You are not welcome here._

A soft hiss of breath, a sibilant sound that drew her out of her reverie even as it sent shivers down her spine. Natasha curled her fingers around the hilt of her dagger – and froze when she saw the bright coil of scales draped across her knees, the gleaming black eyes staring back at her. Menace radiated from that gaze, too bright and furious to be anything less than intelligent.

_You bring your pain and rage to pollute my home. You cut my trees and crush my vines._

The triangular head lifted, lower jaw unhinging with purposeful slowness as a vivid green shimmered down the viper’s thin sides.

_You are not welcome here._

For a moment they locked gazes, the pirate with dagger in hand and the guardian spirit of the little paradise. Then they moved at the same time, Natasha kicking one knee up and drawing the dagger through the air in a single, smooth motion, the viper lunging to strike with white fangs bared.

In the sudden silence that swept over the island, her harsh breathing was too loud, too quick. She lowered the blade and studied at the cleanly beheaded snake, its body lying in a sinuous heap on the ground, its fangs sunk through her salt-encrusted trousers into her calf.

She stared at it, a single curse on her lips, and managed to take a breath.

.

He waited. In the sighing surf, saltwater brushing over his back as though the waves themselves were reminding him where he belonged, Clint bent his head against the sun’s light and waited. For time, for the churning guilt in his gut to lessen, for the surety of the knowledge she couldn’t leave without the skiff beached on the pale sands.

For the hope she wouldn’t leave without him.

The water washed up around him, covering his shoulders, his fins, his head - and then blood ran along the bright lines of the tide, copper and acidic and _Natasha._

.

Five hours later Natasha woke slowly, as if even thought was an effort. The sun cast dappled shadows on her face through the fronds of an overhanging tree, forcing her to blink against the warm light. With stiff movements she shifted one arm, curling each finger until the edges of a wave washed against them. Her surprised breath roused the merman dozing in the ocean, head pillowed on his arms.

“Tasha?”

The human blinked at him when he leaned over her, the ghost of a smile curling her lips.

“Hey.” It was a whisper, the faintest sound, but enough to make him smile weakly back at her.

“Hey yourself. How are you feeling?”

“Alive,” she replied, startling a laugh out him.

“Yeah, lucky you. Can you still feel your feet?”

She paused for a moment, the toes of her boots just barely shifting, and nodded minutely. Clint sighed with evident relief, tension bleeding from his human half.

“Good. I wasn’t sure it would work on you.”

“What?” Natasha asked, eyebrow lifting a fraction to reinforce the question. The merman gave her a thin grin.

“There are a lot of poisonous things in the ocean, you know. We know where to look for remedies. That, and…” He leaned on one elbow to take her damp hand in his, squeezing gently. The words that he had only uttered once before hung in the trailing note of his voice, echoing from her memory. _“All mermen have a little magic.”_

The secret he had entrusted a pirate and murderer and thief with; the knowledge that could spell the end of his kind if it were revealed.

Natasha closed her eyes. Before Clint could do more than inhale with alarm, she squeezed his hand back slowly.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He didn’t manage to keep the broken note out and hid it by bending his head, closing his eyes. “Don’t do it again. And I hope you know, this makes us even; I’ve just saved the life I was supposed to take.”

She tugged lightly on their linked hands until he shifted closer to her, curling his long body in a pool newly hollowed out from the shore.

“Of course,” she offered back to him, and lifted her free hand until she could gently brush the nape of his neck, touch the dark sharkskin that began below his shoulders. Nearly tucked against him, the warmth of the sun playing on her drying skin and the white sands around them, Natasha slipped back into sleep.

.

They sailed that way again, six months or more later. Where jungle trees had once grown, where a paradise had hidden, there were only flowers in the foam.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you wondered, there is a difference between being magic and _having_ magic. Magic allows the supernatural creatures in this ‘verse to exist; it is an inherent part of them, twining around their DNA, infused throughout their strangely formed and bizarre bodies. The sea serpents are perfect examples of this; their innate magic, _being_ magic, is what enables a reptilian monster over a hundred feet long to breathe underwater and disappear in the blink of an eye. However, no sea serpent has ever shown a magical talent – the ability to manipulate magic outside of themselves and use it.
> 
> The sea-dwellers who do 'have' magic range from the merfolk with their whispers of talent to the Kraken and its awe-inspiring, cataclysmic power. A good example is the Sea Witch, the only mermaid openly known to have a talent. With it she brews potions, casts spells, and advises teenage faefolk on their poor life decisions (which is a magic in and of itself). But there is good reason for the merfolk to keep the fact that they have magic secret; unlike innate magic, a magical talent can be removed from its original owner and merged with an object of power, or transferred to a waiting recipient. That this invariably kills the original owner is of little concern to the poachers who make their livings from such activities.


End file.
